


And All Our Tomorrows

by tryslora



Series: All Our Yesterdays [33]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Love Bites, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nemeton, Past Divorce, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a beautiful day to get married. Stiles has to admit, he’s glad his ex-husband is going to be his husband again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And All Our Tomorrows

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY. This is it, the final fluffy chapter of this somewhat angsty short novel-length series. I had always intended for AOY to be a single story arc, from the original conflict between our boys up until their final, eventual, resolution. I am pleased to have arrived here, and thrilled that you have all been along for the ride (not to mention patiently waiting for me to finish this). Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy the fluff and smut.

It’s a beautiful day.

Stiles looks up at the sun filtering through the trees, then down at the dappled pattern of light spilled across the nascent Nemeton. It hasn’t been nearly long enough for it to grow to full strength, but there are saplings shooting out of the stump, noticeably stronger and larger each day.

It’s a strange sort of arbor for a wedding, but it also fits, Stiles figures, considering the history that he and Jackson have together. Not to mention that this is the death of an old way of life while beginning a new life, so that suits too. This is a moment of stabilization, and of change. A moment of finding balance.

And somehow he’s still so nervous that his palms sweat and he wipes them against the perfectly creased legs of his black trousers.

“Gross, Dad.” Nikki sits on the edge of the stump, her feet crossed at the ankles, red wedges absolutely impractical for the woods. She kicks her feet slightly, and next to her a shimmering not-quite-there image of Lydia does the same in silent motion, smiling softly when she sees Stiles’s gaze light on her. “Why are you nervous? It’s Papa. It’s not like you haven’t married him before.”

Yes, they were married a long time ago. And right now they live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, and have three children. But they have also argued bitterly and were divorced for a decade. “It’s been a long time, Nikki. And I’m old now. Starting over isn’t easy,” Stiles tells her, because it’s the best way he can find to put it into words.

“It’s Papa,” she says again, and Lydia tilts her head as if to agree with her, one delicate eyebrow arched in expectation.

It’s Jackson.

And ever since he came back from London and pushed his way into Stiles’s life, it’s always been Jackson. It only feels right that they’ve come back to this, starting all over again.

“Someone’s fussing.” Isaac approaches quickly, a squirming baby in the crook of his arm. He holds a half-full bottle up, and Stiles quickly grabs the burp cloth from Isaac’s shoulder and places it on his own. Isaac sighs and hands over Stephen. “Sorry. He made it through about half the bottle and then he just stopped. His diaper’s clean. I think maybe he’s teething.”

Stiles sways slightly, tucks the tip of his finger into Stephen’s mouth and lets him gum at it. “I don’t feel anything, but that doesn’t mean it’s not coming.” Stephen grabs his finger with his tiny hand, shoves it in deeper and chews harder. Stiles winces. “Yeah, you might be right.”

Isaac shoves the bottle into the pocket of his suit jacket, fishes around until he finds a pacifier. He offers it to the baby, who shoves it away in favor of keeping Stiles’s finger in his mouth. Nikki and Lydia both snicker, eerily similar in sound.

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles assures Isaac. “You’ve got all the girls, so I think I can handle one small baby. I’ve done this before, you know.”

“I hope I did not pee on the wall while you were changing me,” Nikki grumbles. “Boy babies are a pain.”

Stiles laughs, because Nikki is not exaggerating and he can’t help but be amused by the memory of her frustration while trying to take care of Stephen. “You were an angel, and you were a mess,” he says. “And we loved every moment of it. Just think of this as a reminder what your life would be like if you’re not careful.”

“I am _not_ ready to be a mom,” Nikki grumbles, while Lydia murmurs _good_ and Nikki glares at her.

Stiles smiles slightly as he sways, Stephen still determinedly chewing on his finger. He watches the girls rather than watching the chairs that are slowly filling with members of the pack and family. Amanda isn’t there, but her husband sits in the front row while Angie plays with the other younger members of the pack. Danny has disappeared to help Isaac, giving the adult members a chance to enjoy the ceremony.

“It’s time,” Lydia says, and Nikki hops off the stump, making room for Scott to take his place instead, Stiles standing by his side. Nikki kisses Stiles’s cheek and hugs him hard, then takes her place next to Caleb in the front row of seats. Nikki grips Caleb’s hand hard, and Caleb squeezes hers before leaning over to brush a light kiss against her lips.

When did the teenagers get so grown up?

“You ready to do this, dude?” Scott asks, and Stiles nods before he can rethink it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. And then it’s going to be a long time before there’s another wedding, right? Because I’m pretty sure there will be one for the kids someday, and you won’t be officiating that one—”

“I could,” Scott protests.

“If it’s your son getting married, I think you’ll be busy, and Allison will kill you if you try to be anything but father of the groom,” Stiles says dryly. He hears music in the distance, a song he can’t identify even though the beat makes him start swaying again. “Let Derek get ordained for that one.”

Lydia coughs slightly, from where she sits on the stump behind Scott, and she points toward the back of the space they’ve set up. Stiles turns slowly, his heart hammering so hard he’s sure it’s drowning out everything else for those with supernatural hearing, and he locks eyes with Jackson, barely even seeing Amanda standing next to him.

Jackson looks so fucking perfect. Over forty years old, and his cheekbones could still cut glass. His shirt is open at the throat, with no tie, and his suit jacket is neatly buttoned. Stiles licks his lips, watches while Jackson’s gaze drops to his mouth, and he has to smile when Jackson mouths _I want to lick you_.

This is really not the time for an inconvenient boner, and yet… it’s not like his body has ever listened to reason.

Stiles shifts his stance under cover of swaying for the infant still cradled in his arm. He tears his gaze away from Jackson and looks down at Stephen, murmuring nothing words as the infant’s eyes close. Stiles manages to slip his finger from his mouth just as Jackson arrives beside him. He carefully wipes it on his hip before he reaches up to cup the nape of Jackson’s neck, tugging him closer.

“No.” Scott slides a hand between their faces, nudges them apart. “It’s not kissing time, not yet. But don’t worry, I’ll make this quick, and you can move on to the part you’re really waiting for.”

“The part where we sneak away from the party?” Stiles asks.

“Ew, Dad!”

Jackson raises an eyebrow, and Stiles snickers, because oh dear God, he really does love this man. He loves Jackson and their whole little family.

“Right, quick ceremony, got it.” Scott opens the little notebook in his hand. “So there are a lot of things I could say about life and death and rebirth here, but honestly, I think we all get that.” He looks past Stiles at the small gathered crowd. “We’re all still here. Some of us are a little less here than others….” He pauses while Lydia clears her throat, and motions as if to say _get on with it_. “But the point is, we keep going. Day after day, our lives move on, and things change. Our children grow up. We get older. We meet new people and some of them come home to join our pack. Sometimes people leave, and sometimes they come home again. But every day is a new adventure, and every day that we’re still here is something to treasure.”

Scott looks at Jackson and Stiles, smiles slightly. “What brought us to this moment was nothing more than an accident. A series of accidents and misunderstandings, and a series of mistakes. Stiles and Jackson did this before—we’ve celebrated with them, and we’ve mourned with them. But this time, I know it’s going to stick. I can feel it, and I think you all can, too. This is it. This is where they belong, and it’s going to be brilliant. Are you guys ready to give each other some vows?”

“So ready,” Stiles says, and Jackson smirks.

“Then you’re up first.” Scott takes a step to the side, leaves Stiles and Jackson alone under the narrow canopy of the Nemeton.

“So we’re here,” Stiles says, and he takes both of Jackson’s hands in his. “I’d kiss you, but I’m pretty sure Scott would get between us and keep us from doing that, so I’ll try to wait.” He pauses, lets the audience chuckle softly, while he keeps his gaze on Jackson. Stiles smiles softly, licks his lips just to see if Jackson’s gaze drops to his lips (which it does, of course).

“I can’t imagine going forward without you,” Stiles says quietly. “I hated you for a long time—I’m man enough to admit that. But I’ve also loved you for a long time. You got under my skin, and you stayed there. No matter how I felt, you’ve always been a part of me. And I will always love you, from this day forward. I just want to do this together, Jackson. Raise a family, see Nikki step into the future, be together. Forever and always, I pledge you my heart, my body, my soul. We’re in this, you and I. I trust you, and I love you.”

Jackson raises one hand to touch Stiles’s cheek, slide his thumb along his lower lip. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I want to say, and _I love you_ seems too simple,” Jackson tells him quietly. “We’ve both made our share of mistakes, you and I, and we’re going to make more. I’m not stupid enough to think that we’re going to be perfect. But as we stand here on the edge of our future, I want to say that whatever all our yesterdays have wrought—the pain, the misunderstandings, the love, the family—all of that has brought us here, to this moment, where we can move forward together.” Jackson takes his hands again, raises them to his lips, pressing a brief kiss against Stiles’s knuckles. “To all our tomorrows. May they be the best and brightest of our lives.”

“I fucking love you so damned much,” Stiles whispers, and he refuses to admit to the tears that prick the corners of his eyes. One corner of Jackson’s mouth lifts, and he drops Stiles’s hand and quietly rubs at his eyes as well.

“I love you, too, asshole,” Jackson murmurs, and Lydia laughs.

Stiles steps closer, sliding his hands around Jackson’s back, and he leans in. He hears Scott yelling _hey_ in the background, and Nikki asking if they did the rings yet, but frankly, he doesn’t care. He wants to kiss his husband, and damn it, Jackson’s kissing him back and it’s all worth it. He lingers over the kiss until Scott nudges them apart, and Isaac sneaks in to steal the now-sleeping Stephen from Stiles’s grasp.

Danny places rings in each of their hands to exchange, and they go on like they never left their fingers. They’re the same metal from their first rings, melted down and re-cast into brand new circles. Stiles’s is a little tight, and Jackson’s slips too easily over his knuckle, but those are problems that can be solved. Stiles is caught looking at their linked hands and the rings on their fingers, matching perfectly, settled right into the places that used to have grooves worn from the rings long ago.

“Now you can kiss,” Scott grumbles, and Jackson huffs a laugh and pulls Stiles close.

Stiles supposes there might be more things they are supposed to do, or pay attention to, during the ceremony, but right now all he wants is his husband in his arms. There are shouts, and there’s music from somewhere, but Jackson murmurs, “Kiss me,” and Stiles does.

#

Stiles and Jackson have an informal receiving line after the wedding, shaking hands with their guests, greeting them warmly, offering and receiving hugs before sending them off on the trek through the Preserve. It’s not far from the Nemeton to the new Hale house, where the reception will be held.

In the end, only Stiles and Jackson linger, along with Nikki, Caleb, and Lydia.

“I’m proud of you.” Lydia’s kiss to his cheek feels like a whisper of cold along Stiles’s skin. “I want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Stiles glances at Jackson. “I think we both are.”

“Good, then go.” Lydia flicks ghostly fingers toward the path. “I want to talk to Nikki and Caleb before I let go and relax again. Nothing serious, nothing dangerous,” she promises. “We’ll be talking for oh, fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty.” She arches one eyebrow, and Stiles fights back a grin as Jackson’s fingers find the small of his back.

“If it takes longer, that’s fine,” Jackson deadpans. He glances at the teens. “No drinking at the Nemeton, and no making out at the Nemeton. That’s a kind of energy I really don’t think you want to feed it.”

“Or give it the potential to feed you.” They may have broken bonds with the Nemeton, but Stiles still doesn’t trust it completely. And all jokes about _Teen Mom_ aside, Stiles is in no way prepared to be a grandparent this young. Nope, no way, no how.

“Ew.” Nikki wrinkles her nose. “That imagery is kind of gross, Dad.”

He has to agree, but still, it’s something to be concerned about. “Then let’s not test the theory,” he grumbles. Jackson manages to get an arm around him, and Lydia is still making shooing motions down the path. Stiles stumbles one step as Jackson starts to move with him, but Stiles manages to turn around and call over his shoulder, “We’ll see you back at the house. Be good!”

“Don’t be late!” Nikki yells back, and Caleb laughs as Stiles feels his cheeks go warm.

“You raised her,” Jackson reminds him, and Stiles nudges him with his hip.

They walk along together for a while before Jackson nudges Stiles, moving them both onto a smaller path, perpendicular to the one they were on. “Do you know where this goes?” Stiles asks, and Jackson pauses long enough to kiss him lightly.

“I explored with Isaac yesterday, while he was promising to keep our children occupied until we arrive fashionably late,” Jackson says slowly. “If you’re interested in arriving late, that is.”

“Late to our own party? Didn’t you say something about leaving the reception early?” Stiles asks.

“Actually, I had this in mind all along.” Jackson takes Stiles’s hand and leads him through the woods, the late morning sun throwing shadows and light across the path. “Do you remember when we got married?”

“Haven’t we already done this walk down memory lane?” Stiles counters, squeezing his hand tightly. “Sunlight, lickable skin, the arbor.”

“We didn’t get to finish that conversation.” Jackson brings Stiles’s hand to his lips, tongue darting out to capture the tip of Stiles’s finger. “I was thinking about after the ceremony.”

Oh. That. “When we were supposed to be taking pictures…” Stiles says slowly. “And we ended up in the family rest room.”

“With the door locked, because we couldn’t wait any longer.” Jackson licks at Stiles’s finger, slowly sucks the tip into his mouth as he looks at Stiles. “I didn’t want to wait today, either. We’ve been waiting for ten years, Stiles.”

At least this time it’s not an inappropriate boner, just incredibly inconvenient since they’re in the middle of the Preserve. Stiles stops, uses his free hand to adjust himself. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Yeah, I think we’ve waited long enough.”

“I have a plan.” Jackson tugs on his hand again, and Stiles does his best to keep up, walking awkwardly along beside him. He spots the small cabin, frowns slightly as Jackson approaches it and pulls the door open.

“What is this?”

“Ours for the next hour,” Jackson says quietly. He pulls a phone out of his pocket and sends a text, then places the phone face down on the small table just inside the door. He holds out his hand in silent request, and Stiles hands over his own phone as well.

The cabin is a tiny, one room space. It’s clean, at least, the windows covered, the space warm. The sheets on the narrow bed look clean, and there’s a picnic basket on the small table. Stiles swears he sees the neck of a bottle of wine sticking out. No, it’s champagne, bubbling up as Jackson opens it and takes a swig right from the bottle before passing it to Stiles.

“To our future,” Jackson murmurs, tugging Stiles closer.

Stiles echoes his words and takes a long gulp of the sweet bubbly. Jackson’s fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, and Stiles is more than willing to go along with this and help. He sets the bottle down on the table, reaches for Jackson’s jacket and nudges it off his shoulders before he shrugs out of his own as Jackson manages to get the buttons undone.

Stiles untangles the tie and pulls it off, dropping it on the foot of the bed. He sees the way Jackson eyes it and snorts. “Not now, love. Basics first.”

“I just want to be naked in bed with you,” Jackson admits.

“Sounds good to me.” Stiles pushes Jackson’s shirt off his shoulders, then drops slowly to his knees to work the fly of Jackson’s trousers open. He pushes them wide, brushes his fingers over the bulge of his boxers that is revealed. Jackson’s hips jerk forward, and Stiles presses a kiss over the cloth, sighing when Jackson’s fingers tangle in his hair. “Impatient?” Stiles asks, and Jackson grumbles.

“Yes.” Jackson pushes his trousers and boxers down, lets his erection spring free. It’s been so long since Stiles has seen Jackson naked and he wants to catalog all the small differences, and revel in the similarities. The muscles are still there, the plane of his chest familiar if a bit softer. The cut of his hips is still perfect, and the weight and length of his rigid cock is familiar. Stiles grips it at the base, slowly strokes to the tip and rolls his hand over the head, overjoyed with the whine Jackson breathes out.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Stiles tells him. He shoves lightly at Jackson’s shoulders, waits until Jackson is sitting on the edge of the bed before Stiles undoes his own pants and shoves them down. His cock springs free, thick and hard, dripping from the tip. He barely has time to look at Jackson before he’s pulled forward, and Jackson’s mouth slides over him, taking him in deep. Stiles whimpers, a shocked sound that cuts off as Jackson swallows around him, and he’s far too close to coming already.

“Go ahead.” The words vibrate on his skin, and Stiles is tempted. He’s so fucking tempted to rock back and forth, fucking into Jackson’s beautiful, perfect mouth, and emptying himself inside of him.

But he is not going to fucking waste this chance to have another first.

Stiles pulls out reluctantly, takes a step back. “Not yet.” His voice sounds strangled to his own ears. He crawls into Jackson’s lap, pushes and pulls until they are both on the bed, lying side by side, their legs entangled. “This is our second first consummation together, and I want to get it right.”

“I am pretty sure that fucking between your thighs while you jacked off in the sink _was_ right.” Jackson smirks, hips shifting as he ruts against Stiles, and oh, it would be so easy to just lose himself in this moment.

“It was,” Stiles admits, because it’s a fond memory, and has been a favorite to return to over the years. But at the same time, he wants something new this time. Something different. “But we’ve got a bed this time, and a little more time before someone comes pounding on the door to look for us. So I am going to wreck you, Jackson Whittemore.” He loves the way the flush spreads on Jackson’s skin at his words, the way his hips jerk in anticipation. Stiles grins, bites the words along the line of Jackson’s collarbone. “I am going to wreck you until you beg for release.”

“Fuck you, Stilinski.”

“Maybe next time.” Stiles straddles Jackson, takes his hands and puts them under the pillow that’s behind his head. “Just let me take care of you this time, okay, Jackson? Let me make you howl.”

Jackson groans, hips jerking up against the air. “Please.”

Stiles starts with his mouth, kissing him slow and steady, nipping at the corner of his mouth, trailing kisses along that perfect jawline to back behind his ear. He strokes his hands over Jackson’s chest, ending with his fingertips splayed so that he just barely touches his nipples. He pinches both nipples as he sucks a quickly-fading mark behind his ear, and Jackson whines, hips thrusting into the air.

“Fuck, Stiles….”

“You’re okay, Jackson,” Stiles murmurs against his throat. “I’ve got you.” He has his hands on his sides now, stroking along his ribs. Stiles slides his hips forward, slotting them together, loving the feel of his dick sliding against Jackson’s. He’s rewarded with another low moan, and a shallow thrust, Jackson’s hips trapped now by Stiles’s weight. Stiles rotates his hips a little, presses down. “There we go, just a little bit of touch for you. Do you want more?”

“Fuck yes.” Jackson twitches, but his hands stay where they are. His eyes open, fix on Stiles. “There’s lube in the drawer next to the bed.”

Stiles laughs, because of course Jackson made sure everything was prepared. He almost fumbles getting the lube out, but he uses a small trick of elemental heat to warm it up after he spills some into his palm. Then he wraps one hand around both of them, stroking tightly from root to tip, rolling over the head of Jackson’s dick.

“Oh fuck, yes, like that.” Jackson tilts his head back, and it’s a clear invitation to Stiles. He remembers where every single tiny spot is, and Stiles cradles Jackson’s head with his hand, helps keep his head tilted to one side to give Stiles access. Little nips and kisses along the line of his throat, little marks that fade, but each one makes Jackson jerk his hips, thrusting into the circle of Stiles’s fingers, sliding along the length of his dick.

It feels good. “Come on, babe,” Stiles whispers, stroking harder, faster. He shifts his hips, pushing down against Jackson as Jackson pushes up. Stiles finds that spot on his shoulder, the one that gets Jackson every time, and he clamps his teeth down, biting as he sucks hard. Jackson’s hips stutter in their movement, bucking up as he spurts over Stiles’s hand. Stiles’s groans, his head falling against Jackson’s shoulder, and he thrusts again, his hand slick with lube and sticky fluids. Jackson’s hand tangles in Stiles’s hair, the other sliding down his back to cup his ass, holding on as Stiles jerks once more and comes with a long, low moan.

Stiles collapses back against Jackson, reveling in the slow touches as Jackson slides his hands over his skin, soft and gentle. “Fuck.”

“You were trying to kill me; it’s only right I manage to do it for you, too,” Jackson murmurs.

“Asshole,” Stiles tells him, and he laughs when Jackson agrees and seals it with a kiss.

#

They don’t sleep, even though Stiles wants to curl up and stay there, hidden away and quiet. They’re old enough that if they wait until they’re ready for a second round, they’ll miss the reception completely. Besides, Jackson keeps twitching, and Stiles knows he’s hearing the buzzes of messages coming in to their phones.

“There isn’t a shower here,” Stiles points out.

“Baby wipes,” Jackson says sagely, and he climbs out of bed to open the picnic basket, returning with a fresh package of wipes, and a container of bite size meats and cheeses. He sets the container aside and together they help each other clean up, which would definitely be a distraction if they were any younger; as it is, Stiles’s dick tries to show more interest in the proceedings than he expects, and he has to swat Jackson’s hand away.

“Later,” Stiles says, and Jackson brings Stiles’s hand to his lips and nips at a finger.

“I’m holding you to that,” Jackson agrees. “Once we’re home, and the kids are tucked in and we finally get some privacy again. I remember what it’s like having kids.”

“You love it,” Stiles says.

“I love it,” Jackson tells him. “And I love you.” He winces, sighs. “Let me get that.”

Jackson grabs the phones from the table, tossing Stiles’s to him as he looks at his own.

_Daddy. Honestly. You’ll have time for that later._

Stiles assumes Jackson has a similar list of messages. Nikki is only the first. Derek just says _really_ and Scott’s is gently chiding. Isaac snarks, of course, and Jackson is faintly pink by the time he’s done reading his own messages.

“I guess we have to go back to reality.” Stiles looks at his clothes, scattered and rumpled around the room. Lydia would be horrified to see the crumpled mess they’ve made of their tuxes. Instead of getting out of bed, he holds out one hand, and when Jackson takes it, Stiles tugs him down to sit with him. “Thank you for arranging this. I don’t think I would have made it through the reception.”

Jackson smirks. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me.”

“Jerk.”

“Asswipe.”

Stiles reaches out, grabs the open bottle of champagne. He lifts it up between them, motions for Jackson to wrap his hand around it as well. Stiles’s voice is low and serious when he finally speaks. “I think you said it perfectly in your vows, Jackson. To all our tomorrows—may they be the best and brightest days of our lives.” He takes a quick slug of the champagne, then waits for Jackson to drink as well.

When they kiss, it’s sweet and slightly dry, a crisp sealing of the vow.

“I know they will be,” Jackson murmurs. “It feels good to be a family again.”

Stiles can’t argue with that. They’re finally back right where they belong.

**Author's Note:**

> Kisses to all of you. Come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
